[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Allocation (Closed)

[Deleted]

(Week One, Day Four)

It was evening at Blackridge. Outside, the sun had gone down, and the stars were out in full force.

Unlike most human habitats, the Cybertronian base didn't go "lights out" when it got dark.  A Cybertronian's cycle was quite different than a human's, and unlike the Autobots, the Decepticons had no desire nor will to shift theirs to accommodate their human allies.

In the personal quarters, however, it was possible anyone attempting to recharge might have their own illumination turned low. But out in the corridors, the stark, harsh lights blazed at all hours. Vehicons came and went performing their chores to keep things running as smoothly as possible.

It was in these corridors, in the personal quarters and halls and rooms of Blackridge, that the com system crackled to life, as open air was heard. And then a very familiar and somewhat unnerving voice spoke, deep and rough.

“I want the following to my quarters immediately. @downfall ,  Sparkplug , @flamesnort , Coldwind , @blackframe , and  @vee .”

The com crackles off. There is nothing else.


At the far end of Blackridge, Megatron stands in his personal quarters. An actual door grants entry to those invited. The room houses some of Megatron’s original furniture, pulled from the wreck of the Nemesis and salvaged where possible. A massive table sits in the middle of the room, various datapads on it with maps of the local area and Blackridge itself. On one wall hangs a large monitor and computer. Three chairs are arranged around the table, empty. This is Megatron’s War Room.

A somewhat smaller door in the back of the room leads to what is assumed to be Megatron’s personal sleeping quarters. The door is closed.

Standing beside the table, slightly to the side of Megatron, is Soundwave looms, silent and ominous, there to record everything said and done.

(Soundwave will post after this, and then it's open to those called    )

[Soundwave]

Within Megatron's absence there had been quite a few new arrivals. The call for War, the call to arms... it reached far across the stars, and under its instruction there was a constant trickle of soldiers eager to report to task. One or two during a brief absence was to be expected, a couple new faces that could be addressed. Find out if their current placements is where they would remain under his rule. However, their Lord had been gone for so very long that a small roster had acquired in his wake. A force of individuals with varied skills and talents they brought to the table.

Their Lord would NOT be expected to jump to task seeking out so many.

It was THEIR responsibility to prove their worth and value to their cause.

Soundwave of course was present for such a task, stationed to their Lord's side and one step back in a quiet observational role. When it came to events such as this he was never very far. From the gladiatorial days of rough rallies with him in the forefront to observe for anything out of line or a threat, to a more passive position in the backdrop as his frame changed and roles shifted. Whether he was in the foreground or in their Lord's shadow, it was not even remotely unexpected for the ghost of navy armor and angled shapes to be near.

In preparation for this Soundwave produced a simple list of the names Megatron would like to speak with. Should it have been any other Commander requesting such a thing he would have also provided rough stats and data on each and every one of them to prepare the individual ahead of time. A wireframe of their build, a checklist of what talents or particular skills they held to their name... but Megatron was different. He liked to hear such things fall from the individual's mouth. Get a feel for their confidence or lack thereof.

So, it was plain, void, leaving a great unknown on what was going to come through the door next beyond some general guessing brought on by their names. Those who were unavailable, set to task elsewhere, were omitted for now, but would more likely than not be addressed at a later time.

Settling into place, Soundwave fell still, helm crooking in the direction of the doorway and the eventual gathering point.

[Sparkplug]

Of course, some of Megatron's invitees had further to come than others.

Deep in the Ural Mountains, hidden away in a labyrinthine set of mining tunnels, Sparkplug was bent over a metal bench, her large, expressive optics narrowed in concentration. Small sparks flickered as the welding torch that currently replaced her left hand moved over a complex, smoothbore weapon, a laser-emitter riding sidecar along the barrel. Delicately, careful not to cook the circuitry of the device, she added triangular reinforcing fins around a cracked weld. Her attention was utterly focused on an area a mere couple of centimetres across.

She didn't notice the signal beep, indicating a relayed signal from Blackridge was being put through.

She did notice Megatron's voice, suddenly growling right behind her.

"I want the following to my quarters immediately. Downfall, Sparkplug, Flamesnort, Coldwind, Blackframe, Vega, and Finale."

"Augh!" she yelped, her welding arm jerking in shock and burning a wavering scar across the surface of the work bench. The heavy weapon rocked dangerously, close to toppling off the bench before she grabbed it. Twisting around, the device clutched to her chestplate defensively, her gaze darted everywhere. The only other mecha in the lab was her partner, Vega, grinning with ill-hidden amusement.

"...oh. Right. Speakers," Sparkplug sighed, setting the clump of technology down again and glancing across the brightly-lit chamber towards the dark, imposingly-built figure of the flier. "Screw me sideways with a ratchet wrench, wasn't expecting him to suddenly bark orders. Guess we'd better get over there fast, Vee. Way I hear it, the Warlord isn't a patient mech, and I don't want to give him an excuse to make up his daily atrocity quotient on my aft."

Flicking her oddly structured left arm outwards, the welding torch collapsed into a blur of metal that reconfigured itself into a slender hand. Touching the side of her helm with a finger, she broadcast to Blackridge's comms room.

::Sparklab to Blackridge. Request bridge to main base, two for transport::

While the ground bridge was an incredibly valuable resource, and therefore requests often had to wait their turn, responding to a direct command from Megatron had a way of bumping the queue. Barely had she finished the signal before a whirling vortex of green and white light tore open in the alcove set aside for bridge transport.

"...okay," Sparkplug murmured in a softer voice, barely heard over the rumble of transdimensional energies. "Figured I'd end up meeting the Official Company Spokesmech for the Department of Destruction sooner or later, what with being on the same planet and all. Nerves! Terrifying! It's fine, I'm good. Let's go."

The upper segment of her chassis rotated at the waist, her six wheels deploying and clicking into place as she restructured herself into vehicular mode. Her engine, an alien mimicry of a Chevrolet V8, growled into life, and she sped through the otherworldly expanse of the bridge's reality tunnel without slowing until her wheels hit hard rock again. Blackridge Hold; immediately unmistakable. The overlapping fields of way too many mecha saturated the air.

Reverting to her base configuration with the characteristic sound of microservos reconfiguring her chassis, Sparkplug straightened up. "Unicron's itchy, corroded exhaust vent, I really could have used a bit more warning," she muttered to herself. Looking up at the considerably taller figure of her partner, she briefly rested a hand on the other femme's forearm for reassurance. Vega's answering smile helped, a little. The two had grown close; perhaps closer than anyone outside the confines of their little home in the Russian mountains had yet realised.

Heading out briskly into the maze of corridors that wound through the ever-expanding base, Sparkplug got her bearings, then headed resolutely down the hallway. "Right. Figure he's going to be where Lord- Commander Starscream was. Is he back to being a Commander now? Better figure that out fast! Might be there. Could just go with 'sir'. Never a bad idea, that. D'you know, I served with a guy for six hundred vorns without ever learning his proper rank? 'Higher than mine, and obnoxious with it' was all I needed, so 'sir' was what he got. You know, you work together for long enough, most mecha don't bother with..."

In the throes of badly contained nervousness, Sparkplug rambled as they made their way to the big, well-built door that now guarded the returned Lord's quarters, only shutting up when they came in sight of it.

"Good. Super good. Great. In we go, I guess," Sparkplug muttered, and reached out to tap the request-entry signal. Vega's hand rested reassuringly on the small of her back for a moment, triggering a little flash of unguarded affection in Sparkplug's field, then fell away as the heavy door retracted.

And then... there was Megatron.

Sparkplug stepped over to the clear space before the hulking Warlord and stood to attention, barely aware of her near-autonomic movements. Her attention was entirely consumed by the scarred, massive figure looming over her, more than double her height. He looked old. Sparkplug wasn't exactly young herself, her sparking dating all the way back to the dying days of the Golden Age, but her bright, bouncy movements and clean, crisp paint belied her age. That wasn't the case with him; the millions of vorns hung heavy on his battered, scratched body, the chill of space radiating from the silvery, inconceivably stubborn metal. Red optics glowed like embers beneath heavy ridges.

Her voice was quiet, her usual outgoing nature thoroughly subdued by his air of cold, coiled menace. Her jangled nerves were audible as she managed, "Lord Megatron." 

He was as fascinating to look upon as he was terrifying. And yet, slowly, inexorably, Sparkplug's bright green optics were drawn to the infamous fusion cannon mated to his right arm instead. Rumour swirled about the genesis of the weapon; many credited (or blamed) Shockwave's unique talents for the incredible output of the thing. Its bluntly cylindrical mass came close to her own structural weight all by itself; one of the most powerful weapons ever forged by Cybertronian science. Little by little, her scientific curiosity began to erode the blatant nervousness radiating from her diminutive frame, and she shifted her helm slightly, subtly trying to get a better look at the emitter.

[Deleted]

It was a standard evening by any account. Sparkplug bent over her work bench enraptured totally in her current project, total silence in the abandoned mine turned research and development lab. Save for the low crackle of the welder Spark carefully moved along the surface of the weapon on the metal desk in front of her. Vega stood behind her on her right data pad in hand as she accounted for the various raw materials they had acquired, intermittently passing whatever tool Sparkplug needed that wasn't mounted into her frame.

She, unlike her partner, noticed right away the ping of the incoming message. The low rumble of their Lord cutting the silence afterward summoning several to him. Sparkplug yelled in surprise Vega turning away from her number keeping to see her clutching her project to prevent it from dropping to the stoney floor. Her sudden yell echoed back off the cave walls as the grounder spun around to stare at her partner. Vega couldn't help her bemusement as the smaller set down the project delicately.

Feb 9, 2020 18:08:57 GMT -5:

"Screw me sideways with a ratchet wrench, wasn't expecting himto suddenly bark orders. Guess we'd better get over there fast, Vee. Way I hear it, the Warlord isn't a patient mech, and I don't want to give him an excuse to make up his daily atrocity quotient on my aft."

Vega set aside the data pad as she nodded. "We shall not keep him waiting then."

Spark had barely made the request for a bridge before it promptly opened across the laboratory. Anxiety crackled in the grounder's field as she muttered to herself. Vega promptly followed behind her partner through the vortex before it closes behind them, leaving them at Blackridge once again. Already she felt far more claustrophobic, countless other fields and noise all around her. Again Spark spoke of we anxiety, Vega meeting her touch for reassurance with a soft smile. "A bit more forewarning would have been nice, but I am sure it will be alright."

Vega listened to Sparkplug as she rambled, knowing well her habit of speaking in large swaths of words. "I am sure he has resumed his role of commander, but yes 'sir' is just a good catch all." Sparkplug promptly fell into silence as they paused at the door shutting off the warlord's quarter's from the rest of Blackridge hold. A soft touch against the small of Sparkplug's back in assurance as she once again muttered to herself nervously. The flicker of affection seemed to settle her a bit as she requested entry.

Then the door fell open, and they stepped inside.

Vega promptly dropped the relaxed nature she held with her smaller companion, striding in right behind her. In comparison she was a dark shadow to the bright form of her partner. She stood to attention promptly to Sparkplug's left her head tilted up to respectfully meet the large mech's dark red gaze. He was just as everything she had heard: intimidating, stalwart, weathered, threatening. She herself - despite her own rather large size - was shadowed by him. At his own side was Soundwave, the silent eyes and ears of the Decepticons. The only members of the hierarchy missing were Starscream and Shockwave.

She wondered just what exactly they had been summoned for.

Vega lifted her servo, splaying her digits over her chest and bent forward into a low, respectful bow.

"Greetings Lord Megatron."

[Coldwind]

Coldwind was not wont to waste time. Whatever she was doing before Megatron's message patched through suddenly became irrelevant. Her personal endeavors were moot in comparison to a summons from the highest of places. Without so much as a hint of hesitation, she made her way through the damp corridors of Blackridge and arrived at the lord's sanctum not a moment too soon.

First, she inspected carefully the two femmes who had arrived ahead of her. Vega and Sparkplug. Coldwind didn't know them well. They rarely showed their heads around here, especially as of late. But she knew they were important to an extent, and that they were valued by both Megatron and Starscream. That's all the Seeker needed to know, and all the reason she needed to respectfully acknowledge their presence with a quiet nod.

Neither did Coldwind neglect Soundwave lurking in the background. His presence was not unexpected. The puppeteer oft shadowed their lord, and much closer than she did Starscream. This left her feeling slightly bitter. What good was following the first lieutenant if he would toss her under the bus again? Megatron kept Soundwave around through thick and thin. The Spymaster was trusted, appreciated. She wasn't. It almost made her long for the same kind of recognition from her superior.

Jealousy, resentment; new emotions woven simply from Soundwave's presence.

But to linger on them would mean to ignore their gracious host—the centerpiece of this scene. As her eyes passed Soundwave, she took a step forward and looked upon the war-scarred goliath from across the room. He was towering and impressive, dwarfing even Coldwind. That was not a small feat, but one no less than expected from the embodiment of their gruesome conflict. His presence commanded respect and fear.

Without any preamble, the lieutenant dropped to the ground into a kneeling position, impacting the floor with her fist in so doing. A loud thud echoed throughout the sanctum before she parted her lips and greeted Megatron with a guttural yet submissive tone.

"My lord."

Her head hung low, demonic optics pointed to the ground. She was at his beck and call.

Given her connections to Starscream, it was hard to say if her intent in approaching Megatron with such a loyalist gesture was genuine, but her EMF certainly seemed to indicate as much. She felt honored to be in his presence, and her erratic field was uncharacteristically subdued and tempered—almost humble.

[Deleted]

The dark green draconic Decepticon exterminator was lounging on his berth when the summons came through. Technically he wasn't lounging but recharging while performing minor surface level maintenance. After a million years in and out of a faulty stasis, he was never going to return to his forged pristine and powerful condition. But now with the resources at Blackridge, he was rectifying what he was able.

The summons from none other than Megatron jolted him from his inspection. There was no confusing the source of the voice this time, no chance it could be Soundwave’s faithfull parroting. This time the voice carried the full charisma of the true leader of the Decepticon forces. Flamesnort hastily cleared minor tools away, very quickly brushed himself down and made way to the Commander’s quarters. He didn't rush, but his pace was a touch faster than most walked, urgency but not without dignity. He tried to keep his field tight but pride and joy leaked through.

As Flamesnort entered Megatron’s quarters, he briefly, respectfully nodded to each of the occupants, even Coldwind whom’s actions he now mimicked. Being already on all fours ad one more advantage, when he bowed, he didn't have far to go. Flamesnorts elbows bent, shoulders rotated, and almost instantly Falmesnort’s face was a mere inch from the floor, optics closed for about two second in humble deference to his leader.

And then he pushed off, drawing himself up to his full height standing tall on his rear legs, with his tail resting on the floor helping to provide balance. It brought his own optics level with Vega’s. He wasn't entirely comfortable standing on just two legs plus tail with his arms just dangling at his sides, but none in the room would see him show the slightest sign of weakness.

“My Lord Megatron!” His optics temporarily locked onto those of his leader with pride at the sight of the greatest Decepticon returned to lead them to victory.

[Deleted]

The door to Megatron's quarters slid open once Downfall approached, revealing the vast area within.

Upon entering, he could recognize some individuals he'd met some time ago, their distinct silhouettes forming a familiar image he could quickly recall. Though, there were also a few he could not quite decipher yet and stored those for later. Right now, there was one very particular shape that loomed tall and proud over any other individual in the room; Megatron himself.

His massive frame was recognizable across the stars; big, tall, massive, menacing- He was an idol, an icon, a legend! He was their lord and savior, their leader!

Downfall felt great honor rising within him, and with that, would drop to the ground, kneeling like a loyal knight would before his king! It was an act that required his full attention however, as heavy metal plates gave way to allow him more movement.

His mass shifted throughout the act before his two larger wings spread aside to accommodate to his new position. His helm hang low in submission, his gaze cast downwards, yet his posture was displaying everything but weakness.

He was a loyal Decepticon after all, one who would follow every order given to him.

“I am honored, my lord.”

He spoke in a calm, decent tone as he then pushed to his pedes again. The motion was as slow as before, yet the green jet would not linger to disrupt their meeting any further. He was not the main attraction as this honor was reserved for Megatron.

With a few careful calculated steps he would remove himself to the far side of the room, nodding silently at the others to greet them. It was quite a show, he had to agree, so many new faces gathered to listen to whatever their lord would have to say... and one part of him, was curious as to why they had been summoned.

[Deleted]

Megatron had been watching as they had filed in, one by one. They were new to him, their frames unknown, faces new. As each entered, he studied their frames, their faces, their voices, committing each to memory. Judging. Gauging. The large ones he was watching as they moved, as they shifted their weight. His days as a pit fighter in Kaon taught him how to glean a great deal from his opponents in the moments before battle. If a large figure continually shifted their weight, they likely had an issue with a leg – which? That would be an advantage. Constant swinging of the arms, making and releasing fists revealed a state of nervousness. For what reason? Fear of defeat? Hiding something? Those before him, were they hiding something from him, worried he might find out? Everything was noted.

For a moment, crimson optics continued to regard the door frame behind the others, but no one else arrived. The warlord made a mental note that someone had not answered his summons. He would find out who, and why.

Later.

“Ah, my new Decepticons.”

Megatron’s voice seemed pleased and content. He made no attempt at fancy words, no grand speech at their first meeting. Such pleasantries were not of interest to him. He had a war to win, and as such, he needed to know what his resources were.

Placing a large hand on a hip, the arm with his cannon hanging at his side, he spoke again.

“I am pleased you all came to my summons so swiftly. I do not like having to wait.

Most of you joined the Decepticons during my absence. As a result, I was unable to judge your abilities, your worth, and your place within my ranks.”

The light behind Megatron highlighted the edges of his massive frame. His dents and gouges had been hammered out, his paint restored. There was no sign of the battles he had waded through while he was gone. The Megatron that stood before them was the one they had seen in holovideos, in propaganda material, and on the battlefield itself. When he shifted, the shadow he cast moved over the assembled Decepticons lined up before him, occasionally sinking them into shadow before rising them out again into stark light. It was hard to tell whether this was intentional or not.

“Starscream brought you into the ranks, and likely gave you your positions, your jobs. The special skills each of you have, turned to aiding the cause. My cause.”

Megatron shifted his weight, arms rising to cross before his chest. His optics moved from one face to another to another, almost pinning each for a second before moving on.

“But war is brutal. And I will not have weak soldiers, pointless soldiers....unnecessary soldiers, in my army. And while Starscream is devoted to the cause -” there was a faint, bemused pause there. Indicating the warlord was perfectly aware it was what Starscream was loyal to, and not who - “he and I differ much on how to run this war and the things that will be brought to it.

Therefore. I have called each of you here. And now you will tell me, each of you, who you are, why you have joined the Decepticon cause, and why I should allow you to stay in my army, why I should give you energon, what you will bring to the Decepticons, and to me.

Soundwave is, as always, recording. So I advise you, very carefully, not to lie. To. Me.

We will start with the first of you to arrive.”

Arms uncrossed, Megatron raised a hand, and pointed a clawed finger at Sparkplug.

“Step forward. Your name, your skills, and why you deserve a place in my army.”

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug stayed still and drawn up formally as the massive, imposing mech began to speak. As he stepped forward out of the dimmer shadows, the scars and damage she'd thought she'd seen were revealed as mere tricks of the light, artefacts of her expectations rather than the truth. He was in perfect condition. Wherever he had been, whatever he had done, he was here, now, and he looked ready to tear down the universe by himself.

She listened. Mentally, she inserted 'on Earth' to his words about having newly joined the Decepticons, as she was sure several others had as well - the quadrupedal frame that had entered after her was a fascinating variant that she hadn't seen the like of in an unbelievably long time. The little pause when speaking of Starscream was lost on her; the Air Commander had always dealt with her evenly and fairly, which put her impression of him into a severe minority. The idea that Megatron might want to treat her quite differently wasn't hugely welcome.

But on the other hand, at least Soundwave was here. He was one of the good ones. Things couldn't be too bad.

And then, a clawed finger pointed straight at her.

Oh, rust-licking, sump-sucking, scraplet-klanging slag! Do not babble, Sparkplug! I know you're nervous but do not babble in front of this mech!

Her field pulsed with nervous energy as she stepped forward, looking up at the towering, red-eyed monolith. Her expressive faceplate and bright green optics seemed to belong to a different world. "Research Officer Sparkplug, sir. My Lord."

The little slip with his title rattled her, but she tried not to show it. With a quiet vent of air through her stressed systems, she began, "I'm a weapons engineer, and I am damn good at it. If it explodes, maims or terminally ruins someone's day, I can build it, fix it, or make it better. Spent a long time on Antilla-4 at the development labs. I can scratch together sufficient facilities to work out of near-enough anything. Since the treaty ended, I've rebuilt Vega's offensive systems-" she jerked a thumb behind her at her partner, "-and begun custom weapons for the vehicons. Put together a plan for raising the warship with basically zero resources. Cured the insanity plague wracking the Decepticon garrison with not much more than a terminal and a rusty toolbox."

She cast a glance at Soundwave for support, then steadied herself, and continued. "Got enough integrated chassis tools to strip a frame down to the bolts, rebuild and give it a paint and polish on top. And my weapons systems - if I can deploy them?" She paused, very, very much not wanting to be torn in half on suspicion of an assassination attempt, then nodded as she was given leave to proceed.

Her body transformed. The large, square headlights embedded in her shoulder guards flipped up and withdrew, revealing twin two-by-four missile racks. Plating either side of her waist irised open, and six-barrelled gatling blasters emerged into the light with oiled smoothness. But it was her left arm that underwent the most dramatic change; her twin elbows locked in a straight line, plating closing over them. Her hand folded away, her forearm splitting open along a third of her arm's length into a trio of pylons surrounding a central emitter. The back of her shoulder opened like a flower, revealing a black blast nozzle. Keeping her weapon arm carefully not pointing at the Warlord, energy snapped through her systems, bars of crackling energy linking the tips of the pylons. A tangible EM field radiated as her accumulators hummed with energy, her entire body riddled head to toe with charge capacitors. The diminutive femme was a walking weapons battery.

"Particle lance," she explained, and now there was no nervousness in her field, only pride and enthusiasm. "Continuous beam discharge. Work of art. Could cut that door behind me clean in half. Need the counter-balance jet here," she tapped her shoulder with her remaining hand, "or the recoil would take me right off my pedes."

Wait. Was she rambling? Was this taking too much of the Warlord's precious, infinitesimally-small patience? Focus. What else was there to say?

The reason she was here. Maybe he didn't care. But it mattered to her, and she couldn't leave it unspoken.

"...so that's why I'm useful to you. And I very much want to be here. I used to be part of his shiny band of hypocrites, up until he murdered the entire future of our race by throwing the All-Spark into deep space." She managed to keep her voice at a conversational level, despite the cutting edge it had suddenly acquired, but her field surged with a brief, pure pulse of fanatical hatred. "I want to see everything he ever tried to build torn down in front of him, and then I want to see him dead. I can't do that. You can. He will never even know my name, but by Unicron's black and rusted teeth, I will spit in the husk of his spark casing just the same. So."

Her weapons systems folded away with a lengthy mechanical sigh-hiss of reconfiguring systems, and she bowed her head. "I am at your service, my Lord."

[Deleted]

One after another those summoned filed into the room, though Vega quickly noted the number present did not match with those who were called. And it seemed Lord Megatron was not willing to wait for them any longer. There were no doubts to Vega that those absent would not fare well.

Vega stayed diligently at attention as their master began to speak, watching as he moved about the room and cast the group of them in rolling shadows. Holovids were one thing, standing in the same room as him? His all encompassing presence was daunting.

He welcomed them sounding pleased to them arriving in timely fashion and then quickly got to the point of why they were there. They had all joined his army - on Earth at least - in his prolonged absence and wanted to hear from them just why they were here.

Then he pointed to Sparkplug starting with those who had arrived first. Vega held firm but quickly noted the pulse of anxiety in her partner's field. She would have reach out to assure her once again but was sure it would be inappropriate. Then the smaller composed herself and stepped forward to make her case.

Vega watched as Sparkplug went into details of her position, the improvements she had made to the larger flier, customs she had in mind for the troops, and finally her own arsenal. Given permission she effortlessly slid into her comfort zone- talking about weaponry. But Vega knew how dangerous that was. The small grounder could go on for hours about the subject and she watched both her partner and their liege carefully. Vega had patience unlike most bots had ever known, their master however?

She simply hoped Spark would wrap it up quickly.

Fortunately she caught herself before she could continue her rambling and finished her appeal with her desire to see Optimus Prime dead. Vega's tightly kept field swelled briefly with relief, though no other in the room would know it.

Done hearing Sparkplugs appeal Megatron then pointed to her. She stepped forward lifting her chin slightly to keep respectful eye contact with him. "Assistant research officer Vega, Lord Megatron. Like my partner-" she gestured over her shoulder to Sparkplug "I deal in weaponry, more specifically matters of repair and maintenance. Given the knowledge and resources I could take apart, clean, and reassemble anything with relative ease. My official title of navigations officer proved to be unfit for the current landscape of the war, given we know most everything about this planet and those around it, so Commander Starscream felt suited to position me with Sparkplug to assist in a more practical matter."

She felt a twinge at her leg but ignored it and carried on. "I am here to serve this cause- YOUR cause because I saw the Decepticons take action, I find words without action are a waste of time. Optimus Prime is, quite frankly, a coward. I devote myself to this cause because I know that it takes action to change things, taking the world by it's throat if you must. I will serve you, unwaveringly, until my spark fades away my Lord."

[Coldwind]

After Sparkplug's impressive show of skills—and her vocabulary—Coldwind stood up to rejoin the other Decepticons in the file, watching Vega make her piece. Though seemingly much less violent-minded than herself, she could see a kindred spirit of action, which pleased her. Not all were opposed to taking extreme measures if they need be taken. Good. It was getting chummy at Blackridge, especially with characters such as Flamesnort roaming around. At the very least he had the same respect for his lord as all of them, though Coldwind could scarcely neglect that the Megatron he knew, and the Megatron that led them now, were practically two different people for all their experiences and transformations.

But that was a thought for another time. Now it was time to focus as the dimly-colored flier finished her piece. She was loyal, perhaps too loyal. Still, she had the right idea. Indeed, if one wants to bend the world to their own will, one must be willing to forego niceties. Many Decepticons—seemingly with Vega among them—saw this as a case of simple pragmatism, a means to an end. Coldwind found herself in agreement with this. However, she derived a sick amount of pleasure and satisfaction from brutality, war, and conquest. To her, this was a hunt for Autobots. A merciless game where only the strong and ruthless survived. It was a sport, and she was a professional.

On those grounds, she and Vega differed a great deal. Coldwind was no well-intentioned extremist. Not like the rest of them. Some people just wanted to hurt others, exert themselves to mask insecurities and to hide that they were lacking in aspects not perceived by the collective. This was Coldwind. Everything she had done she did in pursuit of power and control. There was a twisted sense of purity in the fact. She never pretended to be a good person, never faltered when the times were difficult. Even if it meant to serve a tyrant, annihilate worlds, eradicate civilizations. That was her purpose, her place in the world. She grew to accept it over the countless cycles of pitiless conflict and that made her dangerous.

With vigor, Coldwind took a single step forward and stared Megatron straight in the eyes, one demon to another, a warlord to a sadist.

"Coldwind, master—Lieutenant Coldwind," the Seeker addressed Megatron respectfully in a guttural, even tone. She made the deliberate choice to speak her name first, and only then move onto function. The warlord knew his share of officers, commanders, and lieutenants. Her rank paled in comparison to who she was and what path in life she carved out for herself. She could be formal about it and list her designation like a mindless drone. But Coldwind wanted to take a different approach—one that would show Megatron how deep her passions ran.

"All my life I have dedicated to my creed. I helped pave Starscream's road with dissident bodies, and when no longer were there any left to oppose, I built my own pedestal from the discarded remains of Autobots. I don't deserve to be here because I guarded his life or his prisons."

A momentary pause.

"I deserve to be here because I hate the enemy like few ever could. I live to see their hopes and aspirations dashed, to stand upon a mountain of corpses, surrounded by rivers of Energon. Never have I had so clear a purpose. Your war gave me everything. The power to take, to annihilate. You made me what I am...And in that, I am in your debt."

Coldwind rejoined the rank of Decepticons behind her with a subtle, reverent bow.

"And if destroying Optimus Prime is your goal, then I will be glad to rip apart every pathetic ground pounder standing between you and him. They will bleed and they will suffer—and then, when they see that all is lost, when their loved ones lay dead in the dirt, they, too, will die."

The way she spoke, the way her voice graduated into a crescendo and then slowly dropped into an indifferent, deathly whisper made it plain. Coldwind's emotions were strong and unquestionable. She wanted to unleash untold suffering upon the Autobots, to see them flicker and fade with an expression of dread. That was her stock and trade, the commodity of which were lives lost and futures ruined.

Then, at long last, when all she wanted to say was said, and when there was nothing left to question about her dedication, purpose, or ability, she finished with a final sentence: "My weapons, my mind, my experience, my strength—they are at your beck and call."

It was a rare chance for the brutal militarist to express herself like so, to show Megatron that despite her allegiances to Starscream, despite their mutual office dynamics, her Spark was always fully dedicated to bloodshed. The Second-in-Command was dangerous and conniving. She knew him all too well. The moment an asset was no longer useful, Starscream discarded of it promptly. Being at the receiving end of this treatment, Coldwind knew that she needed to start building trust with Megatron to have more leverage over the devious snake at his back.

If—through actions and devotion—she could gain credit with both her masters, Coldwind would never again be tossed aside. Though, in this decision, she now walked a fine, dangerous line. Relations between Megatron and Starscream being as they were, she knew that sooner or later she would have to make a choice.

Either to stand with the one who brought her to power or the one who had the manifolds to keep it.

[Deleted]

Though Flamesnort kept his visual focus on the wall behind Megatron, he listened intently to each of his comrades. He was all but useless when it came to reading others generally, but with all lying bare here, he gleaned more than he had before.

Sparkplug was first directed and so she spoke first. Flamesnort mentally nodded along as he learned more of the diminutive but passionate femme. The strength of her hatred toward the enemies leader surprised him. He too had originally despised Optimus for the jeison of the All-Spark but it had been so long since he had thought about that act. A cold revelation thumped into his spark, something he was not prepared for and just for an iota of a moment, he lost his composure.

The great war had turned a once brilliant civilisation and glorious planet into a wasteland of death and barbarism. They were all to blame, even himself. What right had any of them to bring new life into such misery. Optimus had done the right thing and spared future sparks from the pointless subjugation of endless war and hatred. After all, while the All-Spark was lost in space, it may yet be recovered. Hope still had a flame.

In his brief reverie, Flamesnort missed the entirety of Vega’s self promotion and was only brought to the here-and-now by Coldwind’s proclamation of the extent of her hatred. Now it was hard for him to keep his field tight, but still a flicker of a sneer crossed his features, disgust in his field.

His turn. Time to bring the heat of his own passion and see if anything catches alight.

“I am Flamesnort, exterminator of Autobot vermin. I swim the oceans, stride the land and fly the airways, there are few places I cannot reach.” A short pause before he continued. “I hunt with tooth and claw strong enough against all but the toughest and the fire I breathe is nearly hot enough to melt armor.” Now the tricky bit that may hit the mark or miss entirely depending on how sane his vision was. “I do not deserve to be a Decepticon. I AM a decepticon, since before our collective name was whispered in secret rooms. I was there at the pit fights in Kaon, supporting your rise from gladiator lashing out at an unjust corrupt system to become the mighty Meagtronus who leads us now. Since day one I have been a part of the true Decepticon cause fighting for respect, recognition and equality in the face of any caste, class, faction or species. I vowed four million years ago and I vow again now. I will do everything in my power to never let us be oppressed again! ”

And there you have it, he thought.

[Deleted]

One after another introduced themselves after Megatron had made his intentions clear.

Downfall kept a keen audio open for any information he could gather, silent and observant as he took in the subtle hints that were thrown into the room. All in all, it was a fascinating aspect to witness each and every individual accommodate to the sudden demand of their masters order.

While their voices carried their intentions along, the green jet shifted slightly from one pede to another. A few notes were saved for later, stored away to hopefully be remembered when necessary. Their names, their voices and their occupations and skills were most important to Downfall at this very moment.

However, once silence settled in and their attention shifted, the big flier stepped forward. His massive frame carried his heavy armor that had been slapped onto his frame to the forefront. Long and big wings settled to keep him balanced as his square like pedes impacted with a metallic 'thud' on the ground.

He was the tallest and biggest of them all, except from Megatron of course, and therefor took a moment to make himself comfortable. Some momentarily lull would pass before the behemoth would drop to his knees once more, bowing loyal in front of their one and true master. A servo was clutched tightly to his chest, preparing for his own introduction.

“My designation is Downfall, my Lord.”

A calm, yet heavy and rough voice left the giant mech, laced with the same accent as it had before.

“And my skills reach far and long, originally commissioned as an Ammunition Specialist and Explosive Ordnance Disposal unit, redesigned to fit the needs of the Decepticons to participate in Aerial Combat as a Frontliner to prevent any enemy forces from reaching our battlefront.”

“My place is wherever you see fit, master. I am nothing other than your tool to bend and shape. Your wish is my command, and your will is my law. I vow my life, my skills, my frame and my very own spark to you and you alone.”

Once this had been said, Downfall rose up to his full height once more, removing himself from the spotlight to allow Megatron to take over once again.

[Deleted]

Crimson optics moved from individual to individual as they spoke, and in some cases, bowed. Megatron studied them closely. How they moved. How they spoke. What they said, and what they did. He took note of who spoke of loyalty, and who spoke of power. He took note of who spoke of hatred being their prime reason for joining his Decepticons, and who spoke of other reasons. He even studied their frames, looking for weaknesses and strengths to be exploited.

Some things he heard did not specifically please him, but he said nothing for now. He would watch, and wait, and see if hunches he was developing were right or wrong. Megatron had learned many things over the span of the war, and for every two times he was right, there was a time he was wrong. So he would wait, and see, if these individuals could overcome potential weaknesses he had noticed.

“Yes,” he spoke, sounding pleased, “You seem committed enough. Good. This is a war we are fighting, and in war there must be strength, dedication, and a warrior’s need to conquer, in whatever way best suited to the individual.”

There was a slight pause as he once more ran his gaze over the newcomers assembled before him. His gaze would linger just long enough that the one being observed would possibly begin to feel some discomfort. Eventually he spoke again.

“Now. You have told me who you are, and why you are here. Starscream has, as I have said, set you up in your various positions here, given you your duties, your chores, your...responsibilities. Were I to grant you any position within the Decepticon ranks, where would you ask to be placed?”

Again, his gaze grew intense as he waited for them to each speak in turn once more.

[Sparkplug]

Stepping back, Sparkplug searched the Warlord's fixed, glowering faceplace for any hint as to how she'd done, or what he made of her. Unfortunately for her, his expression remained as opaque as Soundwave's, and even less likely to suddenly break into a smiley. Anxiousness creeping back in at the edges of Sparkplug's field, she tried not to focus on the ambiguity of her position, and instead watched as, one after the other, the remaining Decepticons present gave their own pleas for relevance.

Though she knew that Vega had been assigned as her partner, it still hadn't fully occurred to Sparkplug that the big flier was technically now a member of the research staff, and it triggered a little shimmer of happiness to think of Vega that way. Many of the happiest years of the diminutive femme's existence had been spent with her fellow researchers, before the monotony of their isolated base and over-exposure to the others had gradually wearied her, and now Vega was officially classed amongst them.

The strangest thing was to hear her partner announce her devotion to Megatron's cause due to his penchant for violent action. Not really a subject they'd talked about between themselves; Sparkplug herself didn't much care for the topic of the Warlord, and hadn't raised it. It was a risky move to call the Autobot leader a coward, though. Maybe Megatron would agree, maybe not. Either way, he seemed set on holding his own counsel.

Then Coldwind stepped forward. Inwardly, Sparkplug winced as the flier spoke with a fanatical passion about her sheer lust for destruction and atrocity. It wasn't like Sparkplug particularly cared how violent other mecha were; explosions were fun, weapons were cool, and their race was doomed anyway so all that was left was to shout 'Wheeeeee' as they careened down the helter skelter to oblivion. But she'd met mecha like Coldwind before, dangerously crazy mecha that had let their personalities degrade into omnidirectional lust for spilled energon, and they usually self-destructed in a way that left a lot of collateral damage to every mecha unlucky enough to be close to them. Definitely not one to be friends with.

Flamesnort, well... he, on the other hand, was several million vorns behind the times. Fighting against the oppression of the Towerlings in the cause of mutual respect and equality; a battle that had been won and over with long before Cybertron had guttered into a seared, rusting cinder. And that archaic, unusual quad frame too... where had he been dug up from? Was probably nice enough, but unless he could look after himself, he'd be a lightning rod for every bored sadist around.

Sparkplug's optics shifted back to Coldwind for a second at the thought.

On the other hand, super-hot flame breath might be enough to put off most mecha, and he looked decently armoured. Did he have a tank of on-board volatile materials to pull off that trick, or was it something more esoteric? Sounded like an interesting system. Whatever; it'd be pretty interesting to see how Megatron dealt with that claim to primordial Decepticon-hood. Taken the wrong way, it could easily be read as a criticism of the giant armoured dictatorial wrecking machine.

The last to speak, Downfall... he was harder to read. Heavy armour for a flier, that was interesting. Couldn't be a long-range flier with all that weight, unless his onboard Energon store was gigantic. Some experience in bomb disposal. But... aside from the clean, clear pledge of personal loyalty, she couldn't get a feel for his personality. Bit of an enigma, there.

It hadn't escaped Sparkplug's attention that both Coldwind and Downfall had pledged loyalty to Megatron personally, rather than the Decepticon cause. Vega's pledge could be read either way, and Flamesnort definitely claimed a place based on adherence to dogma that was no longer even given perfunctory lip-service rather than overwhelming adoration of Megatron himself.

And she, personally, hadn't done any of those things. Maybe if she hadn't gone first and had heard the others pledge themselves beforehand... no, probably not even then. Pledging loyalty to one mecha had never been her way, even before she'd turned away from the Autobot cause forever.

Of all the things she'd expected from Megatron, she hadn't expected to find him this hard to read. Not a word directly to her, or any of them. Instead, an invitation that was part test, part trap: an offer to tell him, personally, where they thought they deserved to stand in the great Decepticon hierarchy. Every ambitious mecha in the room had to be wondering how high to aim, and how much to temper that ambition with caution in case they over-extended themselves.

It was funny, really. Because, in her case...

"Exactly where I am now, my Lord," Sparkplug answered, with a certain frankness to her field that would have been hard to fake. "I'm running my own weapons development lab, I've got Vega to help me and we work really well together." Solus Prime's perfectly pert aft, wasn't that an understatement. "Being based off-site gives me space to work in. I've been reporting directly to Air-Commander Starscream so far, so I'm not buried under a reporting hierarchy. The only thing I'm really missing is access to raw materials, which we're all short of since the move to Blackridge."

Freedom to work on her own projects, plenty of space from the clattering cacophony of Blackridge, and privacy to share a recharge rack with the big flier, who had shifted from being her partner to being her partner? It was honestly hard to imagine what could improve the situation. She wasn't the type of mecha to covet a title like, oh, 'Head of Weapons Research', and it would have been crazy to grant her it with a mecha like Shockwave around.

She was that profound rarity amongst the Decepticon forces: an individual that made up in skill for her lack of ambition, a mecha that was perfectly happy.